


For You

by kylar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, guitarist Iwaizumi, lead singer Oikawa, rockstar!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylar/pseuds/kylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa and Iwaizumi are lifelong friends who, together with their friends Hanamaki and Matsukawa, decided to start a band. They managed to luck into a record deal, and now Oikawa's songs have been recorded, published, and sold world-wide for everyone to hear. But the one person he really wants to hear his songs, the one person he wants the meaning of his songs to get through to, doesn't seem to be hearing them. Maybe this new song will finally do the trick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamin/gifts).



> This was written based off of [this amazing work](http://kittlekrattle.tumblr.com/post/131686828251/from-twitter-iwaoi-au-where-theyre-rockstars) by the wonderful [kittlekrattle](http://kittlekrattle.tumblr.com/). Holy crap seriously go check it out because wow! Thank you for letting me write this!

The sound of the crowd is deafening. Even before they’ve stepped out onto stage, Oikawa can hear them loud and incessant. Thousands of screaming fans eagerly anticipating the start of their set. But that’s not what Oikawa is focused on. No, there are much more… interesting things to pay attention to right now.

Like the way Iwaizumi’s lips pull down in a frown of concentration as he leans over his guitar, plucking at the strings and trying to tune it just so. His brows are furrowed, ever so slightly, and Oikawa watches the faint twitch of his eyebrow piercing, glinting in the lights back stage. He is wearing one of his muscle shirts, sleeveless and baring the entirety of his toned arms for Oikawa’s gaze to travel along. The shirt itself is tight, not leaving much to Oikawa’s very colorful imagination.

Oikawa hums to himself as he rolls up the sleeves of his own shirt to his elbows, playing the songs of their set over in his head, as if he could possibly forget any of the words. Each and every one of their songs has a special meaning, a message laced in the lyrics. He wrote every single one of them with a certain pair of dark eyes and a familiar presence in his mind. Each one caries so much emotion, so much feeling, so much meaning for Oikawa, that if he ever forgets a single word, a single line of lyric, he swears he’ll have himself tested for early onset Alzheimer’s.

He and Iwaizumi have known each other longer than Oikawa can even remember. Some of his earliest memories are of the two of them throwing a volleyball back and forth in Oikawa’s back yard. He remembers being a teenager when Iwaizumi came over unannounced one day and caught Oikawa singing to himself as he tidied up his room. It was that very same day that Iwaizumi went out and bought himself an old, beat up guitar with what little savings he had. He taught himself how to play, learning how to tune to Oikawa’s voice. Iwaizumi seemed to possess a natural talent, and became very good very quickly. It was no time at all before Oikawa was writing songs for them to play together, and inviting the neighborhood kids, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, to play drums and base in their little makeshift band. They were all in college together, the four of them still rocking out in Oikawa’s garage, when a big name of Aoba Johsai Records happened to be walking by and caught the tail end of one of their songs. They had a record deal on the spot and the four of them have been recording and touring together ever since.

Iwaizumi finishes tuning his guitar and rips a loud chord that resonates through Oikawa’s entire body and sends a shiver down his spine. Iwaizumi stands and makes his way over to Oikawa, taking a seat on a crate in front of where Oikawa is seated. Oikawa hums a note and Iwaizumi checks his tuning against the tune of Oikawa’s voice. It’s a routine they’ve gone through countless times, to the point where it just happens instinctively, as naturally as breathing.

Satisfied with his tuning job, Iwaizumi shifts his guitar to lay across his lap and looks up to meet Oikawa’s eyes. Iwaizumi’s dark eyes are bright with adrenaline, anticipation, excitement. He always gets so drawn into the noise of the crowds, the lights on the stage, the strumming of his guitar to the lyrics of Oikawa’s songs. He always gets so hyped up before they step out onto that stage, in front of all those people calling out their names. Oikawa loves seeing him like this, so eager and exhilarated.

The stage manager sticks his head back into the small waiting area the two are seated in and calls, “On in two,” before disappearing, leaving them by themselves again.

“You ready?” Iwaizumi asks him. His voice is a little lower than normal, gruff, hoarse around the syllables of his short question. That’s another pre-show normality for Iwaizumi, a side-effect of his eager anticipation to be on that stage. And it never ceases to tighten Oikawa’s chest, to get him all riled up and jittery.

Oikawa offers him his trademark smirk, leaning closer to Iwaizumi by resting his elbows on his knees. “You know I am. I was born ready.”

Iwaizumi reaches out a hand and Oikawa takes it. They pull each other to their feet, and Iwaizumi’s forehead falls against Oikawa’s, their hands still gripped tightly between their chests. Oikawa’s heart is hammering, and not just due to their nearing start time. He wonders if Iwaizumi can feel it through their touch, through their close proximity. Oikawa can almost feel Iwaizumi’s own racing heart, maybe not directly through their touch, but he can feel it through their connection, their bond that’s been growing since they were small, and continues to grow every day.

“I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine,” Iwaizumi murmurs under his breath. Oikawa can feel it ghost across his lips and suppresses a full-body shudder.

“We’ll do this together, one more time,” Oikawa finishes the chant, the pre-show ritual that started even before they ever stepped foot onto an actual stage, before they even found Hanamaki and Matsukawa to complete their band.

Iwaizumi’s strong arm wraps around Oikawa, pulling him into a tight hug. Oikawa can feel the cold, hard planes of Iwaizumi’s guitar pressed between them, but that’s the least of Oikawa’s focus right now. He wraps his own free arm around Iwaizumi’s nearly bare shoulders, their other hands still clasped firmly between their chests, and returns the hug. Iwaizumi’s whole body seems to be vibrating with his excitement, and Oikawa is sure that he can feel Oikawa’s body doing the same thing. When Iwaizumi next speaks, it’s a faint ghost of a breath over Oikawa’s ear.

“Let’s do this.”

Oikawa nods, fighting the urge to bury his nose and mouth into the strong lines of Iwaizumi’s jaw, which is right there beside his face, so close yet still unattainable. Iwaizumi releases him after another few heartbeats, loud in Oikawa’s ears and surely Iwaizumi can feel them now, with their bodies so close together.

The stage manager pops back in to tell them that they’re on. Hanamaki and Matsukawa enter the back room behind the manager, and are the first to head for the curtain separating them from the stage. Matsukawa is twirling his drumsticks between his long fingers, and Hanamaki is fingering at the strings of his base guitar, taking those last few seconds to go over the chords of their songs.

Iwaizumi follows the other two and Oikawa falls into step behind him, watching the way the prominent muscles of his back and shoulders move beneath his tight shirt. Oikawa can feel himself sweating already and he hasn’t even stepped under the impossibly hot stage lights yet.

As Matsukawa pushes through the curtain, the volume of the crowd picks up. Oikawa is always surprised how that’s possible, despite hearing it happen at every single concert they’ve ever performed at. And the volume only increases as Hanamaki follows Matsukawa, and then Iwaizumi after him. Oikawa pauses before the thick curtains, the other side of which bearing their band logo in huge white letters across the black fabric, and takes a deep breath.

When Oikawa ducks between the heavy flaps of the curtains, he fights the initial instinct to cringe at the brightness of the stage lights, all directed at them. He forces on his smile- which once the shock of the bright lights fades, becomes completely natural- and waves to the throngs of fans packed into the outdoor amphitheater. They scream and shout, and Oikawa’s smile grows as he makes his way to the front of the stage, to where the microphone stand is waiting for him. Iwaizumi has taken his place to the right of Oikawa’s microphone, and Oikawa glances over at him where his head is ducked over his guitar, fiddling with his pick and the tuners. But when Oikawa’s eyes find Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi looks up and their eyes meet. Iwaizumi offers him a small smile, and Oikawa is quick to return it with a bright smile of his own.

Oikawa turns back to the crowd and pulls the microphone from the stand. In the last couple of shows they’ve finally started supplying him with wireless microphones. Oikawa likes to move around a lot on stage, and in more than one concert he had nearly ended up face first on the stage floor from tripping over the wires. One show a couple years back, he actually tweaked his knee really badly tripping over a microphone cord, and now has to wear a knee brace if he’s going to be on his feet for any extended period of time. He’ll never forget the look on Iwaizumi’s face when he had realized Oikawa was hurt between two of their songs. Of course Oikawa continued with the set, not one to leave his fans disappointed, despite Iwaizumi’s whispered insistence in his ear that they call the concert to an end. But the second he had made it backstage, out of sight of the sold out arena, Iwaizumi had been there, fretting over Oikawa as he had sat heavily on the floor just inside the curtain, unable to continue forward another step. He’ll never forget how much Iwaizumi had worried about him, how he had gone behind the rest of the band to cancel their next few weeks of shows so that Oikawa had time to heal. He had also been very vocal and very insistent that their manager start arranging for wireless microphones to be supplied, and finally, he managed to come through.

Oikawa quickly checks that the microphone is on before raising it to his lips. “Hello Tokyo!” he calls to the roaring fans. The shouting intensifies and Oikawa pulls the microphone away from his mouth as he chuckles at the group of girls in the front row losing their minds. He can even hear one shout their undying love for Oikawa over the voices of the others.

He lifts the microphone back up as he continues with his introduction, nearly the same one he recites at the beginning of every show. Of course they’re not all the same, and he cycles through a few different introductions at every show, just to mix it up a little, and sometimes he’ll even completely improvise his introduction. That always seems to amuse Iwaizumi.

Tonight though he follows one of his few scripts, introducing the band and greeting the fans. He doesn’t spend too long doing that, eager to get into his songs, just as his fans are. He turns to nod his head at Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi nods back, bringing his pick across the strings of his guitar, the instrument echoing the opening chord of their first song throughout the amphitheater. It’s one of their most popular songs, a song unanimously voted on as their opening piece by the band. The crowd goes wild, immediately recognizing the opening notes, even without Oikawa’s quick introduction of the song.

Those few notes are enough to completely immerse Oikawa in the show. It’s all he needs, feeling the heavy reverberation of Iwaizumi’s guitar through his entire body, the steady and loud beat of Matsukawa’s drums, the thundering base of Hanamaki’s instrument, all of which plugged into some serious amplifiers. The individual music of the instruments all flowing together into their song, the heat of the overhead stage lights causing sweat to bead on his forehead, back, and under his arms, the screaming of the crowd, it all works together to make Oikawa’s heart race, adrenaline pumping through his entire being. It’s as if he _is_ the song. The notes consume him, the lyrics pull from his lungs and throat like his very soul is fighting to leave his body through those words, he can feel the emotion of the song thrumming through his veins.

The audience eats it up, as they always do. Oikawa can hear them singing along, even above the deafening sounds of the band on stage. Song after song of their set, they all move effortlessly through the set list, and the crowd’s enthusiasm and excitement never ceases in the slightest. It seems like it should be impossible, but if anything, they seem to get more and more into the show as the band continues to play. They take only short pauses between some of the pieces, for Oikawa to take a breather, for them all to guzzle down water from bottles sitting around the stage, for them to wipe the sweat from their foreheads, for Oikawa to introduce the next couple of songs. Oikawa watches every time Iwaizumi drags that white cloth over his forehead and arms. It doesn’t seem to help much though, his tanned skin glistening under the overhead lights. He watches as a bead of sweat runs down the bridge of Iwaizumi’s nose, pausing at the tip, then dripping down onto the smooth surface of his guitar. Oikawa needs another drink of his water.

They play through their entire set, but as the closing notes of their last song rings out through the amphitheater, Oikawa decides that he isn’t done yet. He wants to play one more song, a song never before heard by the public. Never before heard by even his band. It’s one he’s been agonizing over for months, trying to find just the right lyrics, just the right chord progressions, to bring together every emotion and feeling he felt when writing it. As the crowd roars their praises and demands an encore, Oikawa makes his way over to Iwaizumi. He rests a hand over his shoulder, turning his head to whisper in Iwaizumi’s ear.

“I’m going to sing something new,” Oikawa tells him, keeping his back to the audience, so that even the closest fans can’t read his lips. “To the same time count as our first piece, start with the intro at B, G, D, A for two lines, then the same progression for the chorus, four lines, then the verse at D, F#, then G, then D, A, that will be six lines. Repeat twice, then end with a chorus. The last chorus will have a fade out.”

He pauses, pulling back to look into Iwaizumi’s eyes to see if he’s following along. Iwaizumi’s eyes are glowing with the adrenaline of having played through a full show, but Oikawa can also see the determination shining in his eyes as he commits every word, every chord, to memory. Oikawa doesn’t doubt for a moment that Iwaizumi will be able to play for him, he doesn’t doubt Iwaizumi’s ability to carry him through this next piece, despite never having heard it before.

Oikawa offers Iwaizumi a soft smile, his hand still resting over Iwaizumi’s bare shoulder. “You can say no, Iwa-chan, if you don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Oikawa tells him.

Iwaizumi is quick to shake his head. “I got it,” he assures Oikawa. “I got your back, remember?”

“Of course,” Oikawa hums. “Just follow my lead. I got your back too.”

They repeat the chord progression back and forth a couple of times, until Iwaizumi is certain that he has it down. He plucks a few notes into his guitar to get the time count right, and when Oikawa nods his satisfaction, he turns to wave down Matsukawa and Hanamaki. They both nod in understanding, sitting back to enjoy the show just as much as the audience will. But this song isn’t for them, or for the excited fans.

Oikawa picks back up his microphone and turns to the audience. “We’ve got something special for you tonight,” Oikawa announces. The crowd roars in excitement. “A new song, never before heard by the public. In fact, these three haven’t heard it either. I only just finished writing it, and Iwaizumi hasn’t had a chance to hear it yet. So don’t be too hard on him if he misses a few notes. But I have faith he will get me through this song, yeah Iwa-chan?”

By way of answer, Iwaizumi rips a loud chord that echoes through the amphitheater. Oikawa’s grin spreads further across his cheeks. He takes a deep breath as Iwaizumi’s chord turns into the intro of his new song. Oikawa can feel a new wave of adrenaline pump through his veins, a new spike of excitement, a wave of anxiety. Iwaizumi strums through the few bars of the intro and Oikawa’s heart starts racing with each beat closer to the lyrics he’s about to sing. He has them memorized, of course. He’s not worried about forgetting them. No, he’s worried about whether the true message of his song will be picked up by its intended recipient.

Because this song isn’t for the thousands of screaming fans in front of him. Of course he presents it as such, a gift to them, but that’s not his true intention. This song isn’t for them. And there’s a reason there is no base or drum parts for this song. It’s just him and Iwaizumi. Just the two of them, and no one else in the entire world.

Iwaizumi finishes with the intro perfectly- Oikawa had no doubts- and moves flawlessly into the chorus. That’s where Oikawa comes in, and his voice echoes through the amphitheater. He sings the lyrics out, pouring every ounce of emotion he can into each and every word. At first, he keeps his eyes trained on the cheering crowd in front of him. He sings his song _at_ them, but that doesn’t mean it’s _for_ them. They cheer nonetheless, unaware of who it is Oikawa really wants these lyrics to get through to.

Eventually, after singing through the first pass of the chorus, Oikawa can’t keep his eyes on the fans. He just can’t do it anymore. He turns to look at Iwaizumi as he transitions into the first verse. As if Iwaizumi can sense Oikawa’s stare from his position a dozen or so feet away, he looks up from his guitar to meet Oikawa’s eyes. Their eyes lock as Oikawa sings the words he so desperately wants Iwaizumi to hear. To really hear. And Iwaizumi’s eyes are wide. His fingers don’t stall on the strings, keeping perfect time as he continues through the chord progression of the verse. But Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi is hearing him. That he’s actually, truly hearing him.

It’s as if the entire world around them disappears. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are no longer sitting behind them. The thousands of screaming fans are no longer spread out before them. The amplification by the huge machines all around them ceases to exist. The stage is gone. The lights are gone. The entire world disappears. There is nothing left but Oikawa and his microphone, and Iwaizumi and his guitar. It’s just the two of them, as it’s supposed to be.

Oikawa continues to sing his song, and Iwaizumi continues to play, and not once do their eyes leave each other’s. It’s as if Oikawa can peer into Iwaizumi’s very soul, and his own body hums as if Iwaizumi is doing the same. Iwaizumi’s feet are moving, and it takes Oikawa a moment to realize that his feet are moving too, of their own accord. They bring him right up in front of Iwaizumi, so close that he can count individual beads of sweat on Iwaizumi’s brow. He catches the glint of the lights in his eyebrow piercing, and watches every twitch of the muscles in his arms and shoulders as he continues to strum at his guitar.

They reach the last verse of the song, Oikawa’s voice growing with the intensity of the lyrics. This is it. This is what Oikawa wants Iwaizumi to hear. Everything Iwaizumi means to Oikawa, all of his feelings, all of his emotions, everything he’s every felt towards the guitarist. He pours it all out, right here. He’s breathing hard, not just from the exertion of singing the song after finishing an entire set, but mostly from the sheer amount of emotion Oikawa is forcing through his words.

The fact that they’re suddenly so close together also plays a major role. He can feel Iwaizumi’s own panted breath against his face, can see his reflection in the shine of his dark eyes, can sense the way his whole body is vibrating with the energy flowing through him, in a similar way it is through Oikawa. They’re flowing into the final chorus now, and Oikawa leans his forehead against Iwaizumi’s. He can feel sweat rolling down his brow, nose, temples, but at this point he has no idea if it’s his or Iwaizumi’s. Their hair tangles together, plastered to each other’s damp skin. Their breath mingles, through Oikawa’s lyrics and Iwaizumi’s pants of exertion.

Oikawa’s heart is racing. He can feel it in every corner of his being. His hand is shaking slightly as he holds the microphone between their bodies. But Iwaizumi’s hands are solid as he plays the chords Oikawa recited to him. Not a single missed note, not a single beat out of time. He’s perfect. He always is.

The chorus is coming to an end, the song winding down to its final notes. Oikawa sings the last line of lyrics, Iwaizumi strumming the last few bars. As the last line leaves Oikawa’s lips, his eyes flutter closed. He’s breathing hard as Iwaizumi plays through the same pattern of chords, the volume fading. Oikawa relishes in their closeness. He can feel Iwaizumi’s presence throughout his entire being, and he never wants to step away from him. He never wants to leave the comfort of being so close to Iwaizumi.

But the last chord fades out into the screaming excitement of the audience, and it’s over. The song is done, finished, as is the moment with it. Oikawa opens his eyes to see a smile pulling at Iwaizumi’s lips. Iwaizumi’s hand comes up to cup the size of Oikawa’s face, his grip strong with the resonating thrill of the song and the lingering emotions bred with it. Oikawa smiles back at him, and as much as he doesn’t want to move from that very spot, he has an entire amphitheater of fans to address.

It’s with monumental effort that Oikawa steps away from Iwaizumi and turns to their fans. He lifts both hands in the air to the thunderous applause of the crowd. He lets them cheer for a while, an amused giggle bubbling up from his chest that he can’t suppress.

“Thank you!” he calls out to them, and the girls in the front row scream how much they love him again. Oikawa laughs, continuing to wave at the audience. “You were all wonderful tonight. Thank you for coming to watch us perform!”

His end-of-the-show- speech is like his introduction in the way that it’s rehearsed, cycling through a few scripts between each concert. He goes through the lines, thanking his fans for their support and so forth. But his mind isn’t really on them. There is no improvising tonight. He can’t focus on his words well enough to get away with that. His mind is behind him, on Iwaizumi who hadn’t moved from where Oikawa left him. Oikawa can feel his eyes boring into Oikawa’s back, and Oikawa longs to turn around and meet that heavy stare. Just a few more minutes, and then they’ll be alone. They’ll be away from the excited fans and free to further explore the moment they just shared during Oikawa’s song.

With a few more words, Oikawa bids their fans a good night, and the band files off of the stage behind the curtain. Oikawa walks backwards, last to leave the stage, both hands waving to the still screaming fans. His back touches the thick fabric of the curtain that travels with them on their tours, and he turns to push through it.

The second he’s through the curtains, two hands are on him, grabbing at his upper arms, and Oikawa’s back is suddenly, almost violently, slammed back into the opposite wall just inside the curtain. But he doesn’t blame Iwaizumi for his roughness. Oikawa’s own body is still thrumming with adrenaline, excitement, and he’s sure Iwaizumi is feeling the same way.

Iwaizumi’s face is mere inches from Oikawa’s, their heavy breath mingling between them. Iwaizumi hesitates, as if waiting to see if this is okay with Oikawa, but Oikawa is having none of that. He’s waited years, over a _decade_ , for this moment right here, for their feelings for each other to finally escape where each of them has hidden them securely away. And the last dozen or so minutes since Oikawa started singing his song has felt longer than even that. It’s been the longest fifteen minutes of his life, and finally he’s here. Iwaizumi is right in front of him, with a closeness that is vastly different than any other closeness they’ve ever shared before. Oikawa is done waiting. He can’t wait a second more. He honestly thinks it would kill him.

He closes the minuscule distance between him and Iwaizumi, and their lips meet. Finally, _finally_ , their lips meet. And it’s everything Oikawa had ever dreamed it would be. Iwaizumi’s lips are chapped, a little salty from their mingling sweat, but it couldn’t be more perfect. Iwaizumi is still panting from how much energy he exerted on stage, and Oikawa is still trying to catch his breath from singing through their entire set list, and their breath puffs out of their noses to play across each other’s faces. Without the hindrance of Iwaizumi’s guitar, they’re able to press their bodies flush against each other. Sweat already has Oikawa’s shirt clinging to his chest and stomach, as is Iwaizumi’s, and it creates an awkward feeling between them. But it’s perfect.

Oikawa’s arms come up to wrap around Iwaizumi’s neck, his fingers buried in his short, spiked hair. Iwaizumi’s own hands are firm in their new position on Oikawa’s hips, but not firm enough. Oikawa wants Iwaizumi to hold him tighter. Their lips continue to move against each other’s, and Oikawa swears he could get lost in this kiss, could get lost in Iwaizumi’s grip, get lost in the way he can’t seem to get close enough to Iwaizumi. What nearly kills him is the faint, needy groan that sounds in the back of Iwaizumi’s throat.

Oikawa parts his lips against Iwaizumi’s and Iwaizumi is quick to take the invitation. His tongue passes between Oikawa’s lips, and Oikawa moans into the kiss. He needs more of Iwaizumi. He needs all of him. He’ll never have enough.

A snort from down the narrow hall-like area has the two of them pulling apart in surprise. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are standing there, Matsukawa with a smug smirk on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s about fucking time,” he cackles.

Oikawa is still wrapped around Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi’s hands are still gripped tightly onto Oikawa’s hips, holding Oikawa against him. The only part of them to separate were their lips, but Iwaizumi’s face is still a hairs breadth from Oikawa and when the two turn back to retreat to where they had come from, Oikawa turns into the side of Iwaizumi’s face. He nuzzles his nose into the line of Iwaizumi’s jaw, trailing up to his ear.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Oikawa breathes into Iwaizumi’s ear.

Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi shudder against him at the breathy words, and he turns his attention back to Oikawa, still pinned between his body and the wall. His lips ghost over Oikawa’s, and Oikawa longs to close that nonexistent space, but a smirk is pulling at Iwaizumi’s lips, and Oikawa hesitates.

“You were the one holding back all those years, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi retorts. “You were the one hiding from me.”

Oikawa pouts, but before he can respond with a retort of his own, Iwaizumi’s lips are back on his. They’re not as hard, not as firm, not as insistent this time. The kiss is soft, and Oikawa nearly melts under the delicacy of it. It doesn’t last long though before Iwaizumi is pulling back again. Oikawa tries to chase those lips, not nearly finished with that kiss, but Iwaizumi rests his forehead against Oikawa’s, a hand coming up to caress Oikawa’s cheek in a way very unlike how he did on stage at the end of the song. His fingers, calloused after so many years plucking the strings of his guitar, ghost up the line of Oikawa’s jaw, sliding back to rest against the back of Oikawa’s neck.

“Did you write that song for me?” Iwaizumi asks, his voice soft. It carries a tone Oikawa’s not sure he’s ever heard from Iwaizumi before. It completely grounds Oikawa, who had been floating on the high of a kiss he’s been longing for half his life.

Oikawa closes his eyes, letting the touch of Iwaizumi’s hands, his forehead, his body, consume him. He takes a few deep breaths, further grounding himself in preparation to answer Iwaizumi’s question. As Oikawa thinks over the lyrics in his head, the answer is obvious, but it’s not only that song playing through his head. It’s all of the songs. Every one he’s ever wrote, every one he’s ever performed, ever recorded with Iwaizumi.

He opens his eyes as a smile pulls at his lips. “They were all for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://bokusaka.tumblr.com/)


End file.
